


Raised, but not saved

by the_ravens_writting_desk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult Content, Amnesia, Demon Adam, False Identity, Happy Ending, Homophobia, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Season/Series 08, Torture, it's not as bad as it seems, mentions of aids, mild PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ravens_writting_desk/pseuds/the_ravens_writting_desk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A demon is raised from Hell to join Crowley as his super-soldier. But when facts are revealed about the demon's past, things take a nasty turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Pale Rider

**Author's Note:**

> This story doesn't really end, I'm considering of making it the first of a series. Each different story dealing with one of the issues that remain unresolved in this one.

The stars were gleaming in the sky. Their weak light illuminated the field. Waiting in the field was a thin, older man. He was dressed neatly in a black suit covered under a black coat. His hair, also black, was cut at medium length. He was mix of menace and sophistication, leaning on his cane.

The stars above were reflected in his large dark eyes. Eyes that had seen all, would see all and even beyond that.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” The man spoke with slow, condescending tone. “It’d be even lovelier if you were to show yourself.”

Behind him a shorter man appeared, dressed equally as impeccable, brown hair cut short and beard trimmed. “Well, I enjoy a different kind of entertainment.”

“Why are you here, Crowley? I don’t make deals.”

“Ha.” The King of Hell huffed. “Here I was hoping for a nice tête-à-tête with Death.” Hands in his pockets he pranced over to the Horseman. “What makes you think I have any ulterior motives?”

“How rogue do you think those Reapers are?” Death smiled at the fear in the demon’s eyes. “They may not follow my rules anymore, but they dread me more than you. I know everything about your plans.” From his coat pocket he plucked a bag of jelly beans and held them in the demon’s face. “Want one?”

“Thanks, but no thanks, dearie. But…” Crowley flashed his wining smirk. “If you already know what I want…”

“Don’t test me. You know my rules.” He popped one of the sweets in his mouth. “No.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Think about the children.”

“Crowley…” Suddenly the Horseman was right in his face. “Do you want me to think about the child? Because I can show what will happen.”

Images flashed at the edges of Crowley’s mind. Destruction, death and white empty eyes. Shocked the demon drew back. “That can’t be. It’s a lie!”

“I’m many things, King of Hell.” Death stroked the tip of his cane. “But not a liar. What I showed you will occur. But then again...” He turned around and started to walk away. “A little mayhem never disturbed me.”

“I can handle it! I can handle him! I’ll feed his hunger, he can kill all he wants.”

“And what if all includes you?”

Crowley shook his head. “I have a plan, a plan not even you know about.”

“Really?” Death turned on his heels. “Now you’ve captured my attention.”


	2. The wildman of the woods

A flash of lightning broke through the night. For a second the forest was a mixture of menacing shadows and cold light, before it turned back to darkness. But it didn’t matter, he was empty on the inside, he walked on. He had been walking for hours, or at least he thought so. He couldn’t remember how long he had been walking, where he came from or even who he was. The storm was all he knew.

The rain kept pouring down and the wind was making the tree groan and shake, but he didn’t feel it. He was soaked, but not cold. He kept on walking.

He came to the treeline and bumped into a white fence. It had been designed to keep animals out of the cornfields on the other side. He stepped over it.

The stalks provided little shelter from the wind’s onslaught, not that it mattered, since he only felt the push of air. He walked until he a saw farmer’s house.

There was light streaming through the windows and he could make out the silhouette of an old man. The figure moved closer to the door and slowly opened it. He wore a plastic coat and had a shotgun cramped in the nook of his shoulder.

“Hey kid!?” The man shouted over the wind. The sound of his voice was grating.

“Kid?!” The man shouted again, he was talking to him. Why? “Kid, are you okay?”

He didn’t understand what the guy was on about until he pointed at his temple. Carefully he touched around his eyebrow. When he looked at his fingertips they were dripping with blood.

“Is there someone I can call to pick you up?” He turned his direction back at the stranger.

“Why doesn’t it hurt?” The farmer appeared shocked by his question. He didn’t even know that he could speak.

“What do-”

“WHY DOESN’T IT HURT?!” Thunder accentuated his words. “I’m _bleeding_ out of my head! That should hurt!”

He took a step forward and the old man quickly pointed his gun at him. The old fool was trembling, he could smell his fear in the air. And, oh, how he loathed the man for it. He waved his hand and threw the man backwards, squashing him against the wall of his house.

He curled his fingers and he could feel, smell and see the blood running from the farmer’s mouth. His pain was beautiful, but the stench of fear was still pungent.

When his nails dug into the flesh of his palms the man’s heart stopped beating and his eyes went dull. He looked at the corpse pressed up against the wall. It brought peace to the storm raging in his head.

A horrified scream pushed aside the serenity. He look at the doorframe to see the farmer’s wife turn around and slam the door.

Suddenly he stood in front of her. He was inside, how did he get there? She slumped back against the door. With a flick of his wrist her head was twisted to an impossible angle.

He needed to look at himself in a mirror, to wash the blood of his face and examine the wound. It could be that it needed sutures, but where was he going to find chromic catgut and ethylene oxi- How did he even know this?

Somehow he found himself standing the bathroom. His reflection was naked (how did he not notice that before). Carefully he prodded the gash in his brow. The left side of his face (so that was what he looked like) was covered in dried black and red blood, but more was leaking from the wound. He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the disinfectant.

“Don’t bother.”

He turned around sharply. Behind him stood a short man with a trimmed beard and neatly cut hair. He wore a black tuxedo and matching dress shoes.

“Who are you?”

The stranger huffed a small, cold laugh. “That’s rich coming from mister Killing-his-way-into-your-house. For all you know I live here.”

“But you don’t.” The man shrugged and started playing with a flask of perfume.

“I don’t, but I suppose we’re both far from home, aren’t we?”

“What?” This man knew him, this absolute stranger, a pathetic worm beneath the feet of the favoured chi- wow, where did that come from? “You know who I am?”

The man eyed suspiciously, taking him in completely. “What is the first thing you remember?”

“Walking through the woods… a few hours ago… why?”

“Well.” He sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “I’m Crowley, King of Hell -Hi, how you’re doing?- and you my dear boy, are Asmodeus, Prince of Hell. No relation, thank you very much.”

“What?! That’s insanity.” Kings and Princes of Hell, this man was clearly a lunatic.

Crowley stood up and walked over to him. He draped his arm over Asmodeus’s shoulder and gently turned him so they were both looking at the mirror. “Christo.”

He almost screamed, no he most definitely screamed at what he saw. “No… I’m a _monster_?” The horrible emptiness only seemed to grow.

“You’re not a monster, Asmo, you’re a demon. A very powerful demon… Almost as powerful as me.” He murmured that last bit more to himself. “But you died, killed by the Winchesters.”

Hearing that name, a fire ignited inside him. It filled the emptiness, it was hate, unadulterated loathing.

“Yes…” He gritted his teeth. “They killed me. They took _everything_ from me!”

“Yes” Crowley smiled in amusement. “But they don’t know you’re back and now with Moose off the demon-diet, they can’t kill you anymore. I say we lead them somewhere out of sight and then you can have your fun.”

He nodded. “As soon as you say so, my king.” One day, he’d wipe the floor with the short man, but right now they needed each other.  
“Good, then let’s skedaddle… although.” Crowley’s eyes trailed from Asmodeus’s feet to his head. “A shower and some clothes wouldn’t hurt you…”


	3. Bureaucracy and bloodshed

Asmodeus pushed open the door of the dinner, inside were a few families and some couples who were busier eating each other’s face than their food. With a snap of his fingers he could paint the walls with their intestines, but what would be the fun in that? Slowly he walked to an empty booth at the end of the room. He barely sat down or some blonde in a too tight and too short uniform made her way over to him.

“What can I get you, handsome?” She smiled, smacking her gum obscenely and bending low enough for the demon to see down her shirt.

“Coffee, black.” He took a menu and focused his attention on it rather than the swaying bosom. “And maybe if you have some time…” He turned back to her with suggestive smile. He could make this work. “We could have some fun?”

“Why, you sure know how to sweet-talk a lady…” She fanned herself with her notepad. “I get off in an hour. The name’s Jackie, by the way.”

“Tobias.” He lied. Jackie blew him a kiss and strode back to the counter to prepare his order. Leaving him time to go over his plan.

The Winchesters where one town over, still investigating a murder. I wouldn’t take long for news of yet another mysterious death to reach them. And then all Asmodeus had to do was lead the hunters to the abandoned factory.

“Here you go.” Jackie put down a steaming cup of coffee. “On the house.”

“Thank you.” He took a sip of the beverage, he could barely taste it, but it still gave him some joy. And a little distraction from the urge to kill.

“Now I can’t stay and talk.” Jackie pouted. “The boss man won’t let me, but as soon as I can hang my apron on the wall, I’ll let know.”

“Sure thing.” He sighed in relieve when she turned around to continue her job.

There was still one fault in his plan. He needed to get the Winchesters to the factory, but he couldn’t just carve the address someone’s spine. The last thing he needed was the police showing up and swarming the place.

Suddenly he got the most perfect idea, a win-win. For him at least. Instead of leading the cops to the factory, why not let the cops lead the Winchesters. He checked the golden watch Crowley had given him. A quarter past three. Still plenty of time to have fun and be productive.

Waiting for Jackie to finish her shift was quite a hard task. The laughter of little children made his fingers itch with the urge to kill. But somehow he restrained himself. And, like always, good things come for those who wait.

“C’mon Toby.” Jackie grabbed him by the hem of his shirt and led him outside. “Your place or mine?”

“Hmm? How about my motel room, that way we don’t have to clean up.” The woman purred at the words and pressed her breasts against his chest.

“Is it gonna get _that_ dirty?” Oh, she had no idea. “Because I can be a very dirty girl…”

“I don’t doubt it.” He slapped her ass. “Now, no time to waist.”

Luckily the motel was across the street. Asmodeus doubted he could’ve controlled himself had it been a longer distance. He quickly led her to his room, he opened the door and pushed her in the dark room.

“Oh yes.” She screamed. “I like it rough!”

“Be careful what you wish for…” Asmodeus locked the door and turned on the lights. Jackie’s face changed from lust to absolute horror as she took in the room.

Tied to the chair was a young woman, covered in blood and bruises. She tried to scream, but her desperate cries were muffled by a dirty cloth.

Jackie fell backwards, completely shocked by what she’d seen. She spun around on her heels. Asmodeus laughed and rolled his eyes back, white and empty. He pulled a knife from his pocket and with one swift movement slit her throat. He grabbed a chalice from the nightstand and held it against her neck.

She kept struggling for a little while, but stood no chance against his superior strength. Asmodeus took great pleasure in the harmony of gargled breaths from Jackie and cut off screams from the tied up woman.

“Well.” He dropped Jackie unceremoniously to the ground and sat opposite of the tied up woman, who immediately turned away in fear. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill _you_. I need you… for now. But now, time for some magic.” He moved his hand over the cup. “Tire quiero patem me a di.” The blood started bubbling and a distant voice answered, becoming clearer with the second.

“You have reached the office of the King of Hell, how can I help you?” A friendly woman asked.

“This Asmodeus, connect me to Crowley.”

“Uhm… The King is very busy at the mo-”

“That wasn’t a question.” He could hear her gulping through the line.

“No, sorry sir. I’ll put you through right away.” A high pitched scream filled the connection. It was followed by a soft ‘Bollocks”, before Crowley came to answer.

“Bad timing, boy. I was right in the middle of something.”

“I need you to send a demon to me.  I need one of the cops to tell the Winchesters about the factory.”

“Ah.” The King sounded pleased. A sound that made Asmodeus sick to his stomach. “Clever thinking, I knew you’d make me proud.” With every word he hated him more. “Consider it done. And next time, don’t call during Papa’s playtime.”


	4. Il Principe

The slowly evaporating blood was captured by the hood of his sweater, where he lay on the flood. It smelled simply divine, but he needed to stay perfectly motionless. The muffled pleas of the woman tied in the chair echoed throughout the factory. They’d soon be here.

 “But I don’t get it, first Crowley’s almost invisible and now he’s slaughtering people by the dozen? Does that make _any_ sense to you?” A deep voice carried through the hallway. The woman’s cries became louder, the fool.

“It’s Crowley, okay. Obviously this is some sort of trap… Did you hear that?”

The door barged open and the hunters ran in. Undoubtedly with gun in hand. A foot kicked him in the side, a test to see if he was still alive.

“Well, too late for this sucker.” Dean said surprisingly cheery. “How about that one?”

The rip of duct tape being pulled off sounded through the room.

“It’s him!” She shouted. “It’s him, he did this?”

Asmodeus shot up. His hood falling before his face, keeping the Winchesters in the dark about who their enemy was, that bit longer. He held up his hands and pushed Sam and Dean up against the wall.

“You son of a…” He increased the pressure, knocking the air from Dean’s chest.

“Please…” She had served her purpose, he had no use of her anymore. “Don’t do this, I’ll give you anything you wa-” A knife planted itself in her throat, turning her words into gasps as she slowly drowned in her own blood.

“Exorcizamus te…” He turned to Sam, face contorted in pain. “Omnis… Immundus.”

“Spiritus omnis satanica potestas?” He finished with mock innocence. Their obvious agony made him wild. “Omnis incursion infernalis, yada yada yada. IT’S NOT WORKING!” He pushed himself in Sam’s personal space. Suddenly the hunter’s eyes widened with shock. He’d seen who their enemy was, Asmodeus had been recognised, not that it mattered anymore.

“Adam?”

One word, one _name_ , that was all it took. Memories flashed before his eyes, horrible, tainted memories, filled with torture and despair, but also beautiful ones full of joy and simple things, and a woman. He didn’t even notice that he’d released them until he felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder.

He pulled away. This couldn’t be. What was happening? He was curled up on the floor, screaming over memories that held no meaning anymore. Why would he care about laughing people he didn’t know. But he _did_ know them and he _did_ care, and everything hurt.

“Adam?!” Sam called again, a distant sound. It brought him back. Anger rose up like never before. They made him feel these things, they made him _feel_. And they would pay for this. He spread his arms and blew away everything in the room.

“I am Asmodeus! I am the Prince of Hell! I am not Adam!” He opened his hand and lifted Sam up in the air, squeezing tighter around his neck.

“Your name is Adam Milligan!” Dean hoisted himself up against the wall. “You’re the son of John Winchester.” No, it wasn’t true, they were lying. Crowley had warned him about them. “You’re our brother!”

“NO!” He started folding his fist, closing off Sam’s airways. “I have no brothers.”

“You lived in Windom, Minnesota.” Dean continued. “You were in pre-med, your mom was called Kate, you were…”

He didn’t hear it anymore. All he could hear was a voice, a warm voice; his mother. The nameless woman from his memories returned to him. _Kate_. Kate Milligan, a mother, a nurse, the reason he wanted to become a doctor. He remembered every night when she came home late, completely exhausted, but she would always take care of him. He remembered how she would eat less for months to save up for Christmas presents when he was younger. He remembered how she had cried and yelled at John when he said he’d leave again after taking Adam to a baseball game. He remembered how she’d screamed as that monster ate her alive right in front of him.

“She’s dead…” Tears were running down his face. “She was all I had, and she was taken away from me…”

“I know…” Dean hesitantly made his way over and put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “But all that’s in the past now.”

“She was taken away from me… because of _you_!” He dropped Sam and turned to Dean. “We were fine, we were _happy_! But then that dick made his way back into our lives and it got us _eaten_!” He landed a fist against Dean’s face, throwing his brother on the ground. “Then some angel-jerk brought me back to life and I got tutored by him, only to be kidnapped and tutored again because of _you_!” He kicked Dean in the stomach, causing him to cough up blood. “And because of _you_!” In a blink of an eye he was kneeling besides Sam. He hauled his head up by his hair and pulled the giant towards their brother. “I got tortured by the two most powerful archangels for millennia!”

“I’m sorry…” Adam turned sharply to Dean. “I’m sorry, Adam…”

He let out a bloodcurdling scream. Everything was confusing him. He wanted them dead, he hated them. They left him in hell to rot. They deserved dead. But he couldn’t. He had killed all these people without remorse. All of it to kill them and end the feeling of hatred. But killing them wouldn’t end it, nothing would. He mother was dead, his life was gone and that would never be undone.

He looked at them. Pathetic as they lay on the concrete in puddles of blood, partially their own. He could do it, strike them down. Boil their eyes from their skulls. Strip the flesh from Sam’s bones and force-feed it to Dean. He could take his revenge on them.

The knife left the woman’s throat and he took it in his hand. They were powerless, defenceless. He tightened his grip on the hilt and lifted it up. Then he struck.


	5. Burdens to bare

He buried the blade in the flesh. A huff of annoyance snapped him out of it.

He was standing in an abandoned factory, a _different_ abandoned factory. He had stabbed Crowley. The King pulled the knife from his shoulder and wiped on the bloody apron he was wearing.

“Did you kill them?”

“I’m Adam.”

Crowley wavered, a barely there raise of an eyebrow that Adam would’ve probably missed it if he had blinked. “There’s no Adam, you’re Asmodeus. I don’t even know anyone called Adam.” He sounded angry, desperate even.

“Adam Milligan, the third son of John Winchester. The one left in the Cage with two angry archangels. Does _that_ ring a bell?!”

“You will _not_ raise your voice to your King!” Tiny droplets of spit landed on Adam’s face. “I’ll have you back on the rack with a snap of m-”

A hoarse cry of someone in pain interrupted them. It was a horrible, wretched sound of an innocent creature suffering for the crimes of other. It hit close to home.

“What was that?!” He stared down the demon in front of him, much to Crowley’s infuriation. His face red and swollen.

“I am you King! I don’t owe you answers.” Adam griped Crowley’s neck and hoisted him up.

“You think I’m an idiot, _King of the Crossroads_?” Black smoke started leaking from Crowley’s mouth. Adam’s eyes rolled back to reveal nothing but white. “You think I can’t sense how weak you are?” He pushed the very essence of his power towards the other demon until there was nothing left but an empty shell

Another cry sounded through the halls and Adam ran. Without thinking he appeared in a small room. The walls were covered in wards he recognised from Michael’s thoughts -they blocked out an angel’s power- and in the middle was a chair, with its back turned to Adam. The other demon standing in the room didn’t seem to have noticed him as he sliced the figure in the chair with silver dagger (an angel blade, Adam remembered).

The angel cried out again. “What do you want?! I don’t know anything else!”

“The boss seems to think otherwise.” The demon smiled and prepared to strike again. His hand stopped in mid-air.

“Hey!” Adam shouted cheerfully. The demon gave him an bored glance as he tried to pull his wrist loose with his free hand.

“Are you doing this, angel?” He gave another pull. “Because if so-”

“Hey!” Adam shouted, louder and angrier than before.

“What do you want?!”

“Why are you stabbing yourself?” The look of absolute horror almost made Adam laugh. With a horrible crunch the torturer’s arm broke and twisted towards his chest. A lot slower than necessary the blade pierced the demon’s flesh. An orange glow lit up his bones as he dropped dead.

He ran to the angel and kneeled beside him. The creature was a sight for sore eyes -and for the fashion police, who would wear a red and white striped shirt?- . He was covered in blood, dirt and new wounds that were leaking with fading grace. In fact there was barely any left in him.

“Hey?” Adam softly patted the angel’s face. “Can you hear me?”

Grey eyes focused on Adam’s face and closed in dread. “Please… No more…”

“No more, I’m gonna get you out.” Adam pulled the cuffs from the wooden chair and threw the worryingly light angel on his shoulder. “I didn’t really think this through…” He pulled the angel blade from the demon and disappeared.


	6. Far from Grace

Adam laid the unconsciousness angel down on the cheap motel bed. Being able to possess people paid off when you needed a room, but didn’t have any money.

He was troubled nonetheless. He still felt hate and desire to hurt, but when he looked at the miserable creature, he couldn’t bring himself to harm it. Nonetheless, it was an angel, an angel tortured by demons and would smite his ass when he woke up.

The room needed to be warded. Crowley’s puppets were probably already looking for him and if the angels found a demon harbouring a missing angel, things wouldn’t look very good either. He ran the list of necessary sigils when he realised he needed something to paint them with.

“You don’t happen to have a marker on you, Wiener Hut?” The angel groaned and turned, revealing a name tag: ‘Alfie’.

A car honked angrily outside. “But who says it needs to be a marker…”

 

The silence was torture. There was nothing to occupy Adam’s thoughts while he drew figures on the cheap flowery wallpaper with diesel. Memories of his old life and his mother plagued him. The times they’d spent together, their fights and the time he learned to ride a bike.

All of it was soaring through his head. And before he knew it the room had successfully been cut off. He fell down on the chair. He needed something to distract him, but going on a killing spree wouldn’t help them keeping their heads down.

He had no idea how long he sat there, overthinking every little thought. Eventually the need of distraction won. The angel would be out for at least another few hours, leaving plenty of time for Adam to find a bar and get some sweet reveal.

 

The bar was crowded and stank of cigarettes, which, surprisingly, didn’t bother him. He made his through the horde of people to the bar. He found an empty stool and hopped on it.

“Beer.” The woman beyond the counter gave him a curt nod and uncapped a bottle.

“We don’t like your _kind_ in here.” Adam turned on his stool and came eye to eye with a fat, old redneck.

“What exactly do you mean by my kind?” If there was even the slightest chance of being discovered, he had to deal with it right away.

“Fags!” The woman behind the redneck hissed. “You’ve got your own place downtown, especially for freaks like you.”

“You know…” Adam took a sip of his beer. Hoping it would calm him down enough not to kill someone. "It's very presumptuous to just _assume_ I’m gay.”

“Don’t get all big wordy with us, queer. Now get out!” The man raised his hand, but before either he or Adam could do something, the woman behind the bar pulled out a shotgun.

“If you wanna fight than by all means go ahead. But not in here.” She looked expectantly from the demon to the redneck. “You got it?”

“Well, I’m not staying in the same room as one of them.” The man snarled.

“Don’t worry.” Adam downed his beer in one go. “I’m leaving.” He took of his watch and threw at the bartender, who caught it with ease. “That’s gotta be worth at least a hundred beers.” It was probably best to lose the watch, Crowley would probably have some tracking device attached to it.

He waited outside for a few hours. He took shelter in the darkness of an alley. From his hiding place he had a clear view of the bar and everyone who walked in or out. He bode his time, the desire to hurt growing in his mind. It drowned the memories, the perfect distraction. Eventually the rednecks staggered outside. Smiling, Adam crept from the shadows.

 

Whistling contently he pushed the door open with his elbows. His hand were covered in blood and other bodily fluids and the last thing he needed was the cleaning lady asking about dubious stains. He flicked the lights on. The room was empty.

The angel’s bed was empty. But the door had been locked and no one could teleport in or out the room.

“Alfie?!” He reached under his mattress and grabbed the hidden angel blade. There was no answer.

A heavy object landed against the back of Adam’s head, knocking him to the ground. The demon rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows. The angel leaned in the open door of the bathroom. In his hand was a collection of small soap bottles.

“Did you throw a-” Adam covered his face as Alfie started bombarding him. “Stop it! I’m trying to help you!” Slowly he pulled himself up.

“And why should I trust a demon?” The angel searched around for new projectiles. “If you have no vile intensions then why did you steal my blade?”

“Because…” The demon ducked when the hairdryer was thrown at his head. “Otherwise, you’d attack me with it.”

“That’s true.” Alfie was now completely out of ammunition and sat down on Adam’s bed. He was clearly in a lot of pain, Adam wondered how he’d made it to the bathroom on his own.

“Are you okay?”

“What do you think?!” The angel snapped. “I was kidnapped and tortured, only to be kidnapped!”

“No need to get snarky.” Gingerly Adam sat at the end of the bed. “I saved you, you know, and I killed the guy torturing you.”

“Oh yeah!” Alfie cheered sarcastically. “Saviour is a psychopath.”

“Well, a psychopath with medical training. Take off your shirt and let me look at you.” The angel mumbled something about not really having a choice as he pulled the torn shirt off. His arms, chest and face were covered in cuts, bruises and welts.

“Jesus! What did he do to you?” Adam took the battered arm in his hand and turned. The angel winced in pain. “I’m gonna see if there’s anything useful in the medicine cabinet. Would you mind if I used floss to stitch you up, Alfie?” The demon hopped of the bed and ran to the bathroom. He washed his hands before looking under the sink, where the first aid kit was crammed.

“Samandriel.” The angel said when he dropped back next to him.

“Gesundheit.” He handed the angel a bag of cottons, poured disinfectant on the one in his hand and started cleaning Alfie’s arm.

“That’s my name.” The angel hissed at the sting. “Samandriel. Alfie’s the name of my vessel.” Samandriel’s face fell. “Or at least it was…”

“Did he die?” Adam didn’t really need to ask. He may have only been a vessel for a short period of time, but he remembered how little care Michael had for his physical wellbeing.

“He didn’t survive Crowley’s torture, no…” Samandriel suddenly seemed very interested at the floor. “So what’s your name?

“Adam. Adam Milligan.” The angel pulled his arm back and stared at him in bewilderment.

“The Michael Sword? But you should be locked up in the Cage.” Adam shrugged and continued with wiping the blood and dirt of Samandriel’s arm.

“I guess, but I’m here.” He hadn’t really given any thought about _how_ he had gotten out. Obviously someone from outside must have helped him. He took a clean cotton and began to clean the angel’s chest. “I’m not complaining.”

“But you’re not human anymore… Doesn’t that bother you?”

“It does.” Adam really didn’t want to have this conversation. He knew he wasn’t human anymore. He knew he would have to spend eternity remember all he’d lost. “But there’s not much I can do about, now, is there?”

“You didn’t deserve what happened to you.” The angel took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You and your mother deserved to live happily and unnoticed…”

Adam pulled his hand free. “I know. But it happened nonetheless. So let’s not dwell on it, okay.” Undoubtedly the angel felt guilty for what had happened to Adam in Heaven and it was only right.

“I think my vessel is in need of new a new wardrobe…” Samandriel changed the subject with ease. He lifted the shredded red and white striped shirt. “This won’t do…”

“No.” Adam laughed. “But let me take care of that for you. I’ll buy the clothes all cool kids wear. But first things first.”


	7. What ordinary people do

It took all what was left of the night to stitch and bandage Samandriel’s wounds. By morning the angel had fallen asleep again after mumbling “Low Grace, physical needs.” It only took a couple of minutes of solitude for the memories to start bothering Adam.

Only this time it weren’t memories of the times he’d spent with his mom. Now it were Lucifer and Michael and the unspeakable things they’d done to him. He could hear his own screams echo through his mind. It was too much for him to take. But he couldn’t go out to kill every time he felt a bit anxious.

Instead he decided to go shopping. He, wisely, left a note on the nightstand saying to he was out. As soon as he’d locked the door behind him, he teleported to a mall he and his mom had once visited in North Dakota. It seemed safer to him to travel far away than to go looking around town.

The shopping trip turned out to be more of a challenge than he’d originally thought. Everywhere he looked there were idiots doing stupid things, but he shouldn't kill them. Instead he focused on the task at hand and searched for the closed clothing shop.

After two excruciating hours of stealing clothes, Adam had finally decided he’d had enough. He locked himself away in a cubicle and teleported back to the motel.

“Honey, I’m home!” He avoided the pillow thrown at his head and dropped the bags besides the bed. “C’mon Samandriel. Try them on.” The angel groaned and pulled the covers over his head.

“How late is it?” A weak voice came from underneath the blanket. Adam couldn’t help but smile at the angel’s bed hair and sleepy eyes. He looked adorable. Wait, what?

“Midday.” Adam pulled the cover from the half-naked angel. “Now try them on. I wanna know what you think about it.”

Samandriel sat up and stretched, clearly still in pain. “Must I really?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Yes, you must. C’mon, you’ll look great.” Samandriel sighed in defeat walked to the bathroom with the bags.

Adam impatiently tapped his feet on the floor, he really wanted to see the angel in something more normal. It took a couple of minutes and multiple ‘ows’ for Samandriel to come out. He wore a grey t-shirt underneath a black hoodie and dark blue jeans with neon blue sneakers.

“There was one more thing in the bag.” The demon teased. Samandriel gave a hopeful look, but Adam shook his head. “Put it on.” The angel cursed under his breath and put a brown beanie on. “Perfect.”

“I feel ridiculous.” Samandriel complained.

“Nonsense, you look like an average guy. Maybe a little shorter.”

“I’m not short.” The angel crossed his arms and fell next to Adam on the bed. He shot up screaming in pain.

“Shit!” Adam grabbed Samandriel tight, before he could hurt himself more. “You need to be more careful.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Slowly the angel sat down beside Adam.

“So…” Adam said after a few moments of silence. “What do you wanna do today?”

“Well, I’m still too weak to expose myself or contact Heaven, but I don’t need any more sleep.”

“Do you know how to play poker?” Adam smirked when the angel shook his head. He was so gonna corrupt this guy.


	8. Ferry godmother

“Three aces and a king!” Adam dropped his cards on the bed. “I win.”

“Adam?” The angel tilted his head in confusion. “How many points are the five highest cards of the kind worth?”

The demon’s mouth fell open. “Seriously?” He looked at Samandriel cards, another royal flush. “Luckily we’re not playing strip poker or I’d be naked.” This was the seventh time in a row the angel had won. And Adam had to admit to he was impressed. Even if the angel still didn’t understand the rules.

“Do you want to play another round?” Samandriel asked.

Adam groaned. “We’ve been at this for three days, and don’t take me wrong. I like hanging out with you, it’s just that I’d like to go outside.”

Adam had noticed that he was calmer around Samandriel, the urge to kill or hurt wasn’t on his mind. But being confined to a motel, without getting out to eat, was becoming too much for him.

“Sure.” Samandriel smiled. “I may not be at the height of my power, but I can defend myself, should we be attacked.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist.” He gave the angel a knock on his shoulder. “I think I know just the place.”

 

“Sindom and Givememora?” The look the angel gave Adam a suspicious look. “Why are you bringing me to a bar named after biblical cities?”

“It’ll be fun.” Adam pulled Samandriel to the queue at the door. It was a quiet evening, within seconds the drag queen at the door, Lady Cinnamon Sweet-Thong, had pressed a little kisses on their hands and pushed them in.

Inside there was loud techno music and flashing disco lights. Adam pulled Samandriel to the bar and ordered two cokes.

“Now.” The demon straightened Samandriel’s hoodie. “Don’t go home with guys you don’t know, at least not without telling me, _don’t_ take anything like pills or powders from anyone and for the love of god, don’t insult the lesbians.” Adam took their drinks from the scarcely clad barman and handed Samandriel his.

Adam didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for the angel. The poor thing seemed so out of place, looking from side to side as if he expected to be attacked.

“I don’t know, Adam…” Samandriel pleaded. “This really isn’t for me.”

The demon took his coke and placed it on the bar. “I’ll show you what to do, let’s dance.” He took the angel’s hand and guided him to the dance floor.

“Just follow me…” He placed Samandriel’s hands on his shoulders and his own around the angel’s back. “Now, we move.” Slowly Adam started gyrating his hips. He pressed their bodies closer together.

“I’m not familiar with this dance.” Samandriel’s breath was hot against the demon’s neck. “But you’re a great teacher.”

“Thanks… You’re a great student.”

The song ended and they moved back to the bar. Some asshole had finished their drinks and besides them a group of drag queens was sipping champagne.

“Well, what do A spy with ma lil’ eye.” A tall back drag queen in a silver sequined dress and large blue curly wig turned to them. Her long pink nails ticked against the glass. “What brings a pair of _dashin’_ young gentlemen to a place like these here bar?”

“Just checking out town, and the beautiful ladies…” Adam winked.

“Ooh, now.” She booped the demon’s nose. “A think y’all lil’ young for Fifi, here. But don’t let that stop ya from tryin’…” She tapped one of the queens next to her and gestured her to make place. “Gurls, let’s make some room for these cuties.”

Before Adam fully understood what was happening he and Samandriel were caught up in the latest rumours and fashion secrets.

“Shanda!” Fifi called to a ginger drag queen who just entered. They ran at each other and kissed the other’s cheek without even touching. “How ya doin’?”

“Same old, same old. You?”

“Just an ol’ queen hangin’ out with these here youngsters.” She slid her hands down Adam and Samandriel’s backs, resting at the curve of their asses.

“Well, don’t let me distract you.” Shanda threw her feather boa over her shouldersand pranced to a go-go dancer on the other side of the bar.

“Bye…” Fifi turned her attention back to the boys. “Bitch.” She folded her hands and looked expectantly from Adam to the angel. “So, what’s up with ya two boys?”

Adam felt himself blush, luckily Samandriel was completely oblivious to her question. “We’re just sorta… on a road trip.”

Fifi hummed in disbelieve. “Two young horny boys on a road trip who stop at gay bars? A’ve been young once, a long time ago, A know what happens.”

“Nothing happens…” Adam mumbled. He awkwardly scratched his arms.

“Well, then.” Fifi hit the bar surprisingly hard and caught the bartender’s attention. “Darling be a dear.” She pulled a folded fifty dollar bill from her bra and handed it to the man. “Play something ya can dance to.” The man winked and went to the backroom. “Now.” Fifi pulled off Samandriel’s hoodie pushed them to the dance floor. “Go ‘n make Mama proud.”

‘Wake Me Up Before Go-Go’ by Wham! started playing and Adam couldn’t help but laugh.

“What dance is appropriate for this song?” The angel asked.

“I don’t know, but…” He pulled Samandriel close and started rolling his hips. “We can improvise.”

Adam could feel Samandriel’s heat radiating from his shirt, the angel’s hands were roaming over his back and it all felt wonderful.

“Samandriel?” He whispered in the angel’s ear. Samandriel hummed in confirmation. “Is this okay?”

“This nice…” Adam ran his hand through the angel’s hair and gave him a soft kiss against his jaw. Suddenly Samandriel pushed him away, he looked at the demon in shock. “What did you just do?”

Adam stared at his feet, he couldn’t bring himself to look at the angel. “I’m sorry… I just thought-”

“You could’ve given me some heads up…” Samandriel clutched Adam’s hair and pressed their mouths together. Adam let out a muffled moan. “I just didn’t know you wanted that…”

“To be honest…” Adam slit his hand in the angel’s back pocket and grabbed his ass. “Neither did I…” Samandriel rested his chin on the demon’s shoulder as they danced. They didn’t even hear it when the song stopped, until the floor was flooded with people shouting along with ‘Dancing Queen’.

“With the compliments of Fifi LaRue.” The drag queen popped up from the crowd and pinched their cheeks. “Now kids, don’t be doin’ the dickin’ without one of these.” She opened her purse and took out a hand full of condoms. “Trust this here ol’ queen.” Fifi flashed them a sad smile. “It ain’t worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment and check out my [tumblr](http://theravenswrittingdesk.tumblr.com/)


End file.
